


Oh, Devil

by sewerpigeon



Series: But the Burn Wanted More [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Awkward Flirting, Bad Flirting, Banter, Canon Compliant, Chess, Crushes, Dalish Elves, Dalish Origin, Developing Relationship, Falling In Love, Flirting, Getting to Know Each Other, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Rating May Change, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:42:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24882511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sewerpigeon/pseuds/sewerpigeon
Summary: Dorian knew he shouldn’t find it so entertaining, but there was something so innocently rich about perhaps the most notable individual of current times, surviving a physical walk in the Fade, chosen to lead the second Inquisition in history against an ancient magister, a rogue fighter of athletic finesse and precision, the picture of focus and agility—yet when faced with compliments of even the most harmless natures, he was but a fish far out of water.  It was simply endearing.Dorian was not shy about his appreciation of such a facet of the Inquisitor either; nothing about Dorian was shy.  In fact it was one of the few words catalogued in his extensive vocabulary with which he’d never cared to become familiar.
Relationships: Dorian Pavus/Original Male Character(s), Inquisitor/Dorian Pavus, Lavellan/Dorian Pavus, Male Inquisitor/Dorian Pavus, Male Lavellan/Dorian Pavus
Series: But the Burn Wanted More [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1800511
Comments: 2
Kudos: 40





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> am i capable of writing fics without song lyrics as titles? not likely.

It wasn’t as if it was easy to ignore someone dubbed “Herald of Andraste,” even if Dorian had wanted to. And sometimes he _did_ want to, at least in situations like ambushes in the wilderness where it was literally life or death, but most of the time he was actually rather content to watch the Inquisitor running errands both trivial and pertinent alike. He was quite the busy bee; at times Dorian almost felt sorry for the chap, but the running about would bring such a precious, rosy glow to his face that Dorian could only appreciate it.

The Inquisitor also had a penchant for rosy cheeks even if he was standing perfectly still, so Dorian had come to observe. He was attractive; it was plain as day with his bronze skin, embroidered with the pale yellow _vallaslin_ of his people—a meaningful set of marks that was also flattering—golden eyes and hair… He was essentially a walking sundrop; such a warm, friendly disposition aided in that metaphor as well. But the Herald was obviously unacquainted with shows of fawning from followers: lonely mistresses giggling with great lack of poise as they swarmed the elf in the street like mosquitos to wet, propositions from dowagers convinced their children and grandchildren—even themselves—were not a regrettable match for His Worship. Apparently _groupies_ were not a common demographic amongst the Dalish.

Dorian knew he shouldn’t find it so entertaining, but there was something so innocently rich about perhaps the most notable individual of current times, surviving a physical walk in the Fade, chosen to lead the second Inquisition in history against an ancient magister, a rogue fighter of athletic finesse and precision, the picture of focus and agility—yet when faced with compliments of even the most harmless natures, he was but a fish _far_ out of water. It was simply endearing. 

Dorian was not shy about his appreciation of such a facet of the Inquisitor either; nothing about Dorian was _shy._ In fact it was one of the few words catalogued in his extensive vocabulary with which he’d never cared to become familiar. 

“Honestly,” Dorian had told Eris one day, catching him mid-excursion through the library, “it’s exhausting watching you. Back and forth all over Skyhold, checking in on your followers. Why don’t they just come to _you?_ Feed you grapes, rub your shoulders?”

Exasperated, Eris had sighed. “Unfortunately, I’m sure some of them would be all too eager. Believe me, that’s the _last_ sort of thing I want from all this.”

Ah, humility. It’s what everybody loved about him. Well, that and the whole prospective “touched-by-Andraste” thing.

“Well, if any of them offer, feel free to point them in my direction.” Dorian had shrugged, smirking. “Anyway, I suppose it’s more fun this way—for me, I mean. Otherwise I’d likely not be so lucky as to run into you nearly as often. Which I’m finding I enjoy. You’re rather strapping.”

Dorian had almost regretted teasing him so—Eris tried so hard to pretend he wasn’t floundering as he flashed a crooked half-smile that Dorian had come to learn was a nervous reflex. Sometimes, if that particular smile was tilted just right, the corner of his lip might catch on that one crooked tooth. Dorian was happy not to consider the implications of starting to notice such things, and even more so of feeling so _rewarded_ by noticing such things.

“I—um, thank, you.” Eris’s words had stumbled haltingly from his mouth, shoulders stiffening as he made a vague gesture toward Dorian. “Er, you as well, what with… all the… straps.”

“Hm,” Dorian smirked, amused. “You ought to have Varric write that one down.”

Eris had cleared his throat, hurrying to excuse himself using more filler sounds than words, leaving Dorian grinning in his wake. Oh, Maker it was too cruel, he’d laughed to himself. He might just have to take the time to help the poor thing work on that confidence.

Of course, not every interaction was so merciless. Eris had made it a point about wanting to “know better whom I’m working with,” snatching moments in which to run to check in with the members of his “Inner Circle,” as his closest companions and advisors had come to be known. Most of Dorian’s exchanges with the Inquisitor started out adjacent to the Inquisitor’s duties: delivering specimens for Helisma to examine, passing through the library on his way to the rookery, or, Dorian’s favorite, hauling donated or otherwise-obtained tomes to shelve in the library, with which he would ask for Dorian’s help.

Some days there would be only a handful of books and thus little more than a passing dialogue, but other days there might be several crates to sort through, and it would take the better part of an afternoon—not even so much due the amount of books, but rather the distractions and points of conversation they would spark, drawing the process out far longer than necessary. Eris asked most of the questions, not quite as familiar with _shemlen_ literature, and Dorian was always happy to impart his knowledge on subjects dull and obscure alike. Once he’d even had the pleasure of discovering what was surely a misplaced gem of an erotic novel from which he’d narrated several scandalizing exerpts much to the embarrassment of the Inquisitor—and quite possibly whomever else was within earshot.

The kicker for Dorian was that the Inquisitor didn’t _have_ to put the books away himself. He could have asked anyone on the entire grounds to do it while he ran off once more in the direction of the next pressing task. He could have simply left Dorian to do it himself. But he _wanted_ to stay; though it was still technically “work,” it seemed the Inquisitor valued the time as a break, growing chattier with Dorian each time. Dorian did not deny he enjoyed the company as well; it had been a rather long time since he was able to so comfortably share a space with someone and enjoy stimulating conversation… and, while he was at it, appreciate the _scenery_ , as it were.

But, unfortunately, when the Inquisitor had retrieved a book that was too rotted to fully comprehend its contents but peppered with some identifiable portions referring to elves and magisters, and the druffalo in the room could no longer be skirted, it was Dorian’s turn to squirm. As the topic arose, so did a bad taste in Dorian’s mouth.

“Most often what I hear about Tevinter is it being the center of the slave trade,” said the Inquisitor as he carefully set the book aside—likely to be tossed into the hearth at first chance.

This conversation was surely inevitable from the very moment Dorian had joined the Inquisition, and yet he felt as though he’d been caught with his pants down, and _not_ in the good way. “Yes, well. That is true.”

Eris addressed him with somber directness, an almost wry undertone to his words. “And? Did _you_ have slaves?”

“Not me personally.” Dorian resumed his task slowly if only to keep his attentions directed anywhere but from the elven face staring straight at him—how the tables turn and all that. “But my family does, and they treat them well.”

“And you never questioned it?”

Dorian sighed, tense. “Back home, it’s just… how it is? I certainly never thought much about it until I came to the south. I’m sure there are aspects of your culture you’ve taken for granted, no?”

“I’m not so sure I would consider _slavery_ a cultural thing.”

This was not going well. “A man can sell himself to make a decent living. Do you think the elves packed into alienages the size of a stall for a nobleman’s prized charger is any better? Some slaves are treated poorly, that’s true, but most often it can be an assured means of security, even comfort.”

 _“‘Treated poorly’?”_ The Inquisitor’s laugh was mirthless. “Is _that_ what you call it? I suppose it does sound prettier than ‘abused freely’.”

“Abuse heaped upon those without power isn’t limited to Tevinter, Inquisitor.” Was society in the Imperium problematic? Yes. Toxic? Yes. Dangerous? Yes. Tevinter was, in many ways, a hellhole, but it was still Dorian’s home for which he felt great pride and hope, and this interaction was beginning to ruffle his feathers.

But obviously, and fairly enough, it was doing the same for the Inquisitor. Dorian took a deep breath and recomposed himself, salvaging his amiable cadence while remaining sensitive. “I didn’t say they _liked_ it, necessarily, but for many of them it’s all they know, and for the families that employ them, it’s all they know as well. True, I don’t know what it’s like to _be_ a slave, and I haven’t had much cause to think of it until I arrived here. But I suspect _you_ don’t either, and not every tale of Tevinter excess should be taken as the norm.”

Dorian could see the muscle of Eris’s jaw clench as the elf returned his own attention to the remainder of the books to be shelved. An endless moment passed in which the entire room practically smelled of ozone; Dorian couldn’t risk leaving it like this. “This… isn’t going to be an issue between us, is it?” he ventured, turning back on the charm. “I am here to help after all.”

Eris resigned with a sigh, his rigid posture softening. “No,” he said. “You have been a great help, and it’s appreciated.” It even appeared as if the Inquisitor were regaining a fragment of his own amiability, sparing Dorian a thawing glance. “I know if ever there was an exception to Tevinter reputation it’s you.”

This time Dorian’s laugh was mirthless but for the delight of irony. The tension seemed to have passed, at least, and that was reason enough to resume good humor. “You don’t know the half of it. And anyway, mutual appreciation is a fine way to start things off.” He flashed a smile to further accentuate this charismatic dissolution, and he was rewarded with a relenting quirk of the Inquisitor’s own lips. Pretty lips—rounder than they were wide; the yellow stripe over the bottom one leading past his chin was unexpectedly becoming.

The silence grew companionable once more, and occasional asides were made with no ulterior meaning. By the time the last book slid home, Dorian had even won a real laugh from the Inquisitor; _a sound as golden as he is,_ thought Dorian as Eris bid him farewell to resume his neverending myriad Inquisitorial duties.

As Dorian’s eyes followed the elf across the room until he was swallowed by the stairwell, Dorian caught himself: _a laugh as golden as he is? Really, Dorian, of_ all _the people in the whole of Thedas, that one is the_ last _you should be drawing such syrupy conclusions about. Don’t start getting carried away; there’s work to be done._

Still, he could have sworn the room grew colder as Eris left.


	2. Chapter 2

“It’s about time—I was beginning to worry those crows were trying to make you one of their own. You’re certainly up there enough.”

Dorian sat with an ankle resting on his knee, lounging in the chair in his alcove on one side of the small table upon which sat the battered chess set left here from Maker-and-maybe-Solas-knows-how-long-ago. Eris was just descending the staircase from the rookery above, the open floor letting the birds’ chatter and stink forever grace the library. It may have been one miracle for the Inquisitor to have survived Haven, but it was certainly another that one of those things hadn’t yet shit on any of the books and documents beneath them.

“I don’t know, I find they make rather good company,” Eris was saying as he sat opposite Dorian in the chair pulled from one of the surrounding work tables in the room. This was their third weekly chess session, Dorian teaching the Inquisitor to play just as Varric simultaneously sought to instruct him on Wicked Grace—such games were practically a staple in the keep, certainly a common ground for many, and the elf was eager to learn.

Dorian sat up straight to start the game. “Good company? You do know I’m right here. In fact, you have to pass _me_ to get up there.”

Eris smiled as he considered his first move. “They remind me a bit of home,” he mused, so focused on the board that Dorian almost missed the faint wistfulness in his voice.

“I didn’t realize the Dalish were so… cacophonous.” So early in their sessions, Dorian found himself wanting to give the Inquisitor a chance to learn and not just wipe him off the board right away, so he expertly managed to discreetly select not the best moves, but not the worst moves either.

If Eris had any inkling Dorian was being so generous, he made no note of it. “Honestly, I’d take the rabble of the rooks any day over the whispers of hens, if you know what I mean.”

“Fair enough,” Dorian chuckled, patiently analyzing the board as Eris dallied between which piece to select next. “Though it’s not as if either of them lets you hear yourself think.”

“Sometimes that’s exactly what I need,” said the Inquisitor, almost to himself as he committed to a risky move with obvious hesitation. “And rooks at least have the decency to speak their minds to your face.”

Hearing again that hint of darker rumination in Eris’s voice gave Dorian a moment’s pause—he’d been having enough trouble of his own with conspiratorial whispers and shady looks being a _mage from Tevinter,_ but he was almost ashamed to realize it hadn’t really occurred to him in full what severe scrutiny the Dalish elf Inquisitor might be facing from his own followers. It supplied Dorian with a sense of kinship he did not expect to feel for the Inquisitor; it elicited from him a dour chuckle. What an exquisite helping of depressing irony—the Tevinter and the elf having something in common. Although, he wasn’t quite yet sure how dry the Inquisitor’s humor ran, so, it was a rare instance in which he held his tongue.

“Your move.”

Eris’s prompt pulled Dorian from his own rumination, and as he recentered his focus on the board—Wait a moment, had he missed something? Dorian’s eyes did a second sweep; the Inquisitor had him in check. _How did—?_

Dorian glanced up to see the Inquisitor resting his chin on folded fingers, a look on his face Dorian could only describe as _foxish._ “Did I do it right?” he said with mock innocence, that little half-smirk of his no longer confined as just a nervous reflex.

“You little shit,” Dorian scoffed, drawing a few alarmed glances in their direction. He supposed it likely did little for his public opinion to refer to the Inquisitor as such in front of so many witnesses, but he was more concerned with whether he should be offended or delighted by such subterfuge.

“The Commander has had some free time lately; turns out he’s a rather good tutor.”

“Such infidelity will surely be noted, Inquisitor,” Dorian tutted. “As if the Inquisition wasn’t disreputable enough already.”

Eris shrugged, relaxing back into the chair, clearly pleased with his little trick. “Really, I just wanted to see this look on your face.”

 _Just when did he get so… comfortable?_ “Come now, we both know you appreciate seeing my face regardless of the look upon it.” The Inquisitor diverted his gaze for a moment, just enough for Dorian to now be satisfied in turn. _There’s that diffidence; he hasn’t gotten_ that _comfortable._ “Had I known you were one to stoop to such petty means, I wouldn’t have gone nearly as easy on you.”

“Dorian Pavus? Throwing a match? I’m surprised your well-earned pride would ever allow it. I hope you’re not getting soft on me.”

 _Keep looking at me like that, Inquisitor, and I assure you,_ that _isn’t going to be a problem._

Before they could continue this rivoting chit-chat, Eris’s expression faltered and he shifted to withdraw something from his pocket. “Actually, there is another reason I needed to see you; there’s a letter.”

“A letter?” Dorian rested his chin in one hand with renewed interest, the other reaching to retrieve the proffered folded parchment. “Is it a _naughty_ letter? A humorous proposal from some Antivan dowager?”

Dorian unfolded the letter, and his pulse dropped upon recognizing the handwriting even before the Inquisitor answered, “It’s from your father.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> continued in [part 2!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24944491/chapters/60375664)

**Author's Note:**

> i had no idea what i really wanted to do with this fic when i started; i just kept jotting down little pavellan scenes/dialogue ideas until i had enough to go “hey this can kind of be a story???”
> 
> i still have no idea where or how far i’m going with it lol but i do have at least a couple of ideas for these two that i’d like to explore at various points in the pavellan timeline, so i’m breaking it into parts of a series for now to sort of accommodate these being more like snapshots than a full beginning-to-end narrative (kinda like my series motes & motors if you’ve read that!)
> 
> anyway, i’m mostly just feeling this one out; i don’t want to put pressure on myself for something like this that’s just for fun. but if you’ve taken the time to stop by and read i hope you enjoy! if you’d like to follow me on social media, you can find me everywhere as @sewerpigeonart :^)


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